What You Hunger For
by Jessica Pendragon
Summary: You will never be hungry again.


You are so hungry.

It gnaws inside, scratching against your stomach and growling like a monster caged. It seeps into your bones and dries them out so every movement seems to take all your strength. It is tiring, being so empty. People walk by and it's a wonder they don't trip over you. They keep their eyes straight and never waver. Never look upon the face of their own mortality, their own fears. You are something they can't bear to see and the emptiness grows.

So you try and concentrate on your father's hands, because this pain is fleeting while the hunger always lasts. Your hair falls like blackened ash around you as he pulls the razor against your scalp. It hurts, a dull burning that will linger for days, but it is better than the hollowness inside.

_Your hair is so beautiful_ are a few of the words you can remember from your mother's mouth and maybe if you had the strength to cry you would. Because she would care, and maybe feeling her pain will make you feel something more too.

"No more itching, no more lice. You'll be happier, it'll be fine," your father says above you over and over again and you're old enough to know these words aren't just for you. So you sit quietly and patiently, because it's just hair, it doesn't matter. It's just another thing to lose.

The day after ice bursts from your fingertips and coats the inside of your tiny shelter, your father takes you to the Circle. You've never liked begging in this part of the city even when the Chantry sisters give out the best rations. They smile and bless you, but it is a production like the old man and his puppets by the markets. The only thing they see in your eyes is their own salvation.

Your father stops to talk to a templar and you stare up at the iron gates. You've seen mages in robes and templars in their glistening armor walking through the streets. A templar brought a mage to the docks once. They stood so close you thought they were tethered together, and the mage looked at you, but you don't think they really saw you. They were seeing something else, something that made their eyes shimmer with envy that you still can't understand.

But you are one of them now, your father says, as he stoops down and grasps your shoulder. "Do what they say and they'll take good care of you. Go with them, love."

A templar reaches out and you trade your father's touch for cool metal and a warm smile. "Are you hungry? It's dinnertime inside."

And you are, you always are, so you let him pull you away and cross into a new world. You look back once when they've closed the gate. Your father watches between the twisting metal and you see the tears on his cheeks, but you'll never forget the relief in his eyes. You never see him again.

You are not hungry, at least not for food. Vengeance rolls heavy in your stomach and demands to be released, but you clench your jaw and sit still beneath the sharp gaze of the First Enchanter. She takes the sight of you in and you wonder what she sees. Food has made you more human again after all these months, but you know there must be a devilish shine to your dark eyes.

"Tell me, my dear, why you thought it was necessary to hit poor Gerard?"

You picture the boy bowed beneath you, clutching at his scraped knee, his lip cut from where your fist abused his soft flesh. "He was making fun of me, saying I was worthless and ugly, that I would never make it here."

"And do you think that's true?"

You hang your head to hide the ruddy color blooming on your cheeks and ball your hands together.

The First Enchanter moves from behind her desk and kneels next to your chair. A finger dips beneath your chin and forces you to look into her eyes. They are unyielding like stone and you know no one would dare push her around. You have tried to do as your father said, because this place is safe and wonderful, but people are starting to see you for the first time and you have learned their attention can be as bad as their negligence. Yet you crave it. To be seen, to matter.

"I've noticed how zealous you are in your studies and during lessons, but this sort of attention is not how you will rise within the Circle, darling. There is potential in you, an iron quality that I would see molded into something useful. There are other, better ways to deal with foes in this world. Would you like to learn?"

You gaze at the palace through the slits of your mask and everything glistens and sparkles. The small, shriveled girl you used to be could never have even dreamed of so much opulence, so much color.

These people don't know you, not yet, but they _see _you, and their mouths whisper theories of who this new lady in court could be. It doesn't matter what you once were. You could be anything underneath these vibrant lights.

You catch the eye of a duke. He's older than you, but you take his hand and let him swirl you about the dance floor. He peppers you with questions about your identity and you answer with half truths and questions of your own. There's something about the cool grey color of his eyes that sings within your breast, but you cannot let yourself be defeated before the game has begun.

When he asks for another dance, you pull away. You move towards the buffet table and keep it between the two of you and begin another type of dance that lasts all night. As you converse and move with others, you seek out his eyes from across the marbled floor. You let your laugh carry over the crowd like perfume to draw him closer before slipping through the cracks.

You let him claim you for the last dance and there is a hunger for you in his eyes that is desperate and delicious. He begs, starved for any piece of you that you are willing to give him, like you are the only thing that matters in this world. When he asks for your name this time you give it to him, for you have gained so much more.

The day they make you enchanter to the Empress there are those that can't hide their scornful laughter. It is no secret how you have come to this position. You can feel the duke's favor still pressed to your cheek. They are all players of the same game, however, and it is more your role that makes them titter and smile.

_Tis a pointless position_, they say. _She will never rise to great heights under this yoke._

They see your mask, your careful smile and flowing robes, but they do not see the iron beneath. They do not know what lengths you went to feed yourself on those dark streets, clawing against rats and men for scraps of food. They do not know the late nights you spent in the Circle's library teaching yourself to read long after your instructor went to bed. They do not know that you survived on so little, do not understand what you can do when you have so much _more._

They do not laugh at you now. When you walk down the hallways of the palace, they bow and coo like pigeons for your attention, or hide from the heaviness in your gaze. Those that laughed at you that first day of your service have found themselves cast low in your shadow. The First Enchanter was right. Anyone can cut with a knife, but only the powerful can leave wounds with words. You pull on strands and weave a tapestry of your own design and with each passing day it grows larger and stronger.

You have developed a taste for power and each drop of it makes you hungry for more. It swells inside you, filling but never full.

The week before you are to become Grand Enchanter the world erupts into chaos. Mages and templars war against one another, the Circles break apart and scatter to the wind. You gaze upon your carefully made tapestry and see it torn to shreds. For the first time in a long while, you feel fear again.

You have played this game for far too long and there is no time to learn different steps. Your mask becomes a piece of armor as you struggle to find a solid place to stand admits this earthquake. Struggling. It's not something you've had to contend with for so long, but you refuse to lean on anyone. The duke offers his hand, but you pull away like you are back at the ball. You will never take another handout.

You gather as many of your kind as you can under your wing, these loyalist who battle against the war by being far away from it, and keep to yourself in the tower while the world burns. The fire grows closer with each passing day, but you look away and have tea with the Grand Duchess like nothing has changed. It can't change.

You cling to your perfect world until the sky erupts in green. It is another knot in your tapestry, but from this disaster arises a new player to the game. They are marked and blessed and you see the potential for greatness, for a power that will tip the very scales for all. Wherever they are, you must be.

So you send a message and come down from your tower to meet them, this Herald of Andraste, and you hope they will bring order back to your new, order-less world.

Because you promised yourself you would be never be hungry again and you can feel that gnawing monster growing.

_What's it like living as an apostate, Vivienne? Do you really think you'll reclaim your power in the Circle, at your age?_

The Nightmare demon's words beat you apart inside, but you wear your metal on the outside to hide its influence. You know your fears, but to have them displayed before others is beyond terrifying. You cannot be weak in their eyes so you stand before the small tombstone and block the others from seeing, but _they_ see nonetheless. The Inquisitor catches your gaze and for a moment you wish to be that small, invisible girl again beneath their kind eyes.

_Irrelevance._

From what you know of them, it is their greatest desire. They do not care for the names given to them or the power they now wield. Sometimes you catch yourself staring at the anchor and wish it was you who bore it. With such strength, there is no limit to the places you could go. There would be no reason to ever cast you aside. The Inquisitor is the most powerful person in Thedas and they give it away piece by piece and you can't understand.

Power should be hoarded like those stale loafs of bread you grabbed from the baker's trash. It should never be shared, for people always take more than what you offer until there is nothing left. Without power, no one will notice you. No one cares for the unseen.

But the more you watch this savior, watch those around blossom with every piece they give, something inside changes. They do not grow weaker. If anything, their power flourishes. The world flourishes and you realize there is more than that dirty street corner, more than the marbled floors of the palace, more than the safety of the tower.

Something new rumbles within you and you take small bites to try the taste of it.

You ride down the streets in a golden carriage and breathe in the religious fervor around you. The people cry out to their new Divine and you smile and wave as the jewels around your wrist jingle. This is all you have ever wanted. Everyone knows your name, your face, your purpose. You are that man by the markets with his puppets, yet you now pull the strings of thousands upon thousands.

A girl catches your eye in the deep crowd. She stands atop a box clutching to a ragged doll. There are holes in her tattered dress and you know from experience there must be an empty hole of hunger within her tiny belly. She's looking at you, desperate for a glimpse of this new savior, starving for any hope that her world might change.

You stop the carriage and sweep from its plush cushions onto the littered street. The crowd falls silent and parts as you approach this small thing. She doesn't know what to do now that someone is looking at her instead of looking through.

You hold out a hand and your smile is kind, but she does not trust it. You understand. No one offers things without a price, no prize is ever won when you must rely on others. Or so you once believed. The Inquisitor made you believe in something else and you know you can do the same.

"I see you," you say and her bright eyes shimmer. Her hand reaches out and you do not flinch to feel the dirt and grime against your skin. "Are you hungry, my darling?"

She nods and you pull her towards the carriage, tucking her arm under yours like she is a high lady of court. "Well, that just won't do."

The whole world sees you, but now, you see it too.


End file.
